


Hello, I'm Gone

by SeeNashWrite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Behind-the-scenes canon compliant, Family, Gen, Personal Growth, Road Trips, Starting Over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 21:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9291002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeNashWrite/pseuds/SeeNashWrite
Summary: Chuck told us a story about Baby's early days. And we know how she's spent most of her life helping the Winchesters get to where they need to go. Here's a little of what happened in between.





	

The Lucchese brothers set out for America from Italy, climbed off a boat in Galveston, Texas in 1882. Enterprising fellows as they were, Sal and Joe already had a nice little thing going, a boot-making shop out at Fort Houston, over in San Antonio, by 1883. Sal was a nut for machinery, really turned his crank - any word he got about something that might rev things up, well, he wanted to be the first to try it.

The Luccheses became known for their hands-on approach, helped by those machines, sure, but only so's they could give their work a boost. And they refused to cut corners, not even a little. The brothers believed that you should do things right, didn't matter how busy you got.

Right around the turn of the century, their boots were coming in at around ten bucks. By the early parts of the 1900s, they were around $40 a pop. Then came the Hollywood bandwagon, handfuls of actors showing up wearing the Italian-meets-Western creations as word spread - back in that day, couldn't just turn on a TV or expect to see 'em plastered on billboards. Word of mouth and reputation go a hell of a long way.

The singer-songwriters and actual cowboy-types came along. And in the 60s, when style was starting to take a left turn, those boots were still hanging around. Hell, even the White House got in on the action - I'd heard some of the Kennedys got measured and fitted. Johnson, too.

Which, you should. I did. It wasn't cheap, but worth it. You plan to surround yourself with something, day in and day out, you best make sure it's a good fit. So I dished out some of the precious savings I'd squirreled away and got two good fits. Just in case I needed to walk.

And I would've walked, all the way, if I'd had to. I had 'em for a year, good and broken-in, those dark cherry-red dreams that came almost to my knees. Short legs, short strides, but I was determined.

They'd turned into what I thought were the most important boots - maybe the most important _things_ \- in the world. They kept me going, just needed to glance down at them, like they were a talisman. If I believed in that sort of thing.

Still. Funny how things can do that for you, and the people around you can't. _Won't_.

I'd been planning over that year of boot-breaking. To get out. Get gone. Away from that shithole outside Dallas, out of Texas completely. The boots set me back, my waitressing tips and the cash from hocking what little jewelry Momma'd had never quite plugging the hole. Especially when lots of it kept disappearing from my purse, went to his beer and liquor. And his girls on the side.

I stole his piece of garbage truck. I had the spare key, made sense with all the driving I did in it, picking him up from the bars when they'd announced everybody didn't have to go home, but they couldn't… well, you know the rest. And sometimes he wouldn't head home and I'd find him wandering back from a cheap motel along the potholed road that led to the house. His house. His TV. His food. His furniture. His guns.

Stole one of those, too.

The world had sailed into the 70s while I was sailing nowhere. I had nothing to my name but some clothes, my picture of Momma and Daddy the day they got hitched, and my boots. Only brought what I couldn't do without. A small start, but I figured it was better than nothing.

I still lacked a surefire way to get me where I wanted to go. Wherever that was. Figured I'd know once I got there. I knew the boots would be loyal long as they could, but they weren't gonna take me all the way. I wasn't sure what could.

I got a feeling that would change when I spotted that big black dream, parked all lonely in somebody's yard. A handwritten "FOR SALE BY OWNER" sign was taped inside the back window. It was dirty as all get-out, had a crack in the passenger side window, a bent fender, and one of the back tires needed air in a bad way.

But it hung with me well after I'd passed it, walking towards civilization and a phone, after I'd gone and got the truck stuck in reverse. Not too bad, though. Gotten as far as Lubbock without doing worse.

I'm not proud of it, pulling my gun on the guy I'd hitched a ride with. It was after my suitcase wheels had long got useless, my boots all muddy, and I was a wet rat, trudging down the road in a quick summer rainstorm, a mile gone from that car my brain kept chewing on. He _had_ kept putting his hand on my knee, though. Wouldn't listen to my polite - or my not-so-polite - rebukes.

So I tolerated it til we were close to a service station, and that hand sure did fly off quick when he heard the cock of the hammer.

I'd now chewed on that car til all the flavor was gone, even as I got a tow for the truck. I had plenty of cash for the tow, didn't let on, though, as I talked the guy down with a little flirting. I'm sure changing into a sundress in the service station's bathroom helped that along.

Had to cruise around a touch, before I found the turn-off from the paved to the unpaved, then about four more miles to the modest older house with the huge yard. As I pulled in, I saw it. Saw clean through all the bumps and bruises, right to the beauty underneath.

I'd parked and turned off the truck, then just stared at it with a slightly dropped jaw, my hand lingering on the keys that were still stuck in the ignition.

The creaking of a screen door and a hearty chuckle startled me out of the reverie. My hand reflexively shot from the keys to my purse. But the sweet, round, smiling face of the portly man in overalls leisurely coming down the porch steps, then across the yard towards me, set my mind at ease. Long time since I'd been this close to a man that didn't give me the willies. Still. I rolled down the window but didn't get out.

He finally reached me, resting a forearm on my door, but not intruding, the cotton of his rolled-sleeve shirt just peeking in. I briefly let my eyes close. A breeze had wafted by, and I caught the heavenly scent that told me his clothes had been hung on out on lines to dry in the Texas sun. It reminded me of Momma. His well-worn ballcap reminded me of Daddy.

The chuckle still floated over his words as he spoke.

"Well, we were waitin' on you to knock, but I told the Mrs. we'd be waitin' awhile, since you'd gotten a good look at 'er!"

I blinked, said, “Oh. Oh, I… how long have I been sitting here?”

Another chuckle.

"Not too long, just long enough. You want to come sit on the porch? I got hollered at before I came to get you that lemonade's almost ready."

I nodded, and he opened the door, seemed to understand when I hesitated and wanted him to walk ahead of me instead of the other way around. I snatched my purse off the seat and brought it with me. Just in case.

We had barely sat, he on a crate that I wondered at, not sure how it was managing his size, and me on the porch swing, when a woman came out of the house, rear-end first. Her backside pushed open the screen door, her hands busy with a tray. A pitcher full of what turned out to be the best lemonade I'd ever had in my life sat atop it, alongside three plastic tumblers.

I drank two-and-a-half's worth before I spoke, and they were kind enough to keep pouring, waiting patiently. They looked about the age Momma and Daddy would've been, though maybe not as worn. Seemed peaceful out here where they were.

"I don't like the truck," I said when I finally spoke, a real great opener.

They had easy smiles on their faces, but didn't reply.

"I like _that_ ," I clarified, turning my head slightly, pointing back to the car.

"You know anything about cars like that, hon?" the man asked.

I opened and closed my mouth a few times, then just shook my head. But after a second thought -

"I know they're fast."

Now, I couldn't tell you what my face looked like when I said that last part, but I can tell you that woman's eyes shifted from bright and shiny to something a little more somber.

Her husband didn't seem to notice anything, just kept smiling and nodding his head.

"A little too fast for me, I tell ya what," he said. "We've only had 'er a few years, I've kept 'er in shape, she's always run like a dream-"

"She?" I cut in.

"Oh, something that pretty ain't a boy," he informed me, and his wife's eyes went to sparkling again as she laughed.

"We have two boys," she informed me. "Rough and tumble, right out the gate."

"I'm afraid that's how the crack happened," he went on, then paused, but I could tell he wasn't angry.

"Long story?" I asked, a smile of my own starting to appear. It was infectious. These people felt like family, and I'd known them about five minutes. Those were damn lucky boys.

 _Another_ rumbling chuckle.

"Well, it's just a crack, anyways. No sense in getting worked up over the little stuff, ain't that right?" he replied, looking over to his wife, who'd come and sat by me on the swing.

She nodded, then looked at me. "You got any kids?"

I shook my head. "No, ma'am."

"Just as well. That car…." She trailed off with a bit of a _tsk_ and a head shake. "I never felt quite right, when he's run around with the boys in it. Fast, like you say. Made me nervous."

"Aw, honey, now, we can't keep 'em home forever," her husband said, but with love, not criticism.

"Why're you wanting to sell?" I asked.

He sighed, said, "Just too tight on me, on my knees and such. Need a little more room now-a-days." He glanced to his wife as he patted his belly. "If your cookin' wasn't so good-"

"Then we'd have never stayed married this long," she finished for him. She looked back to me, saying, "And we've got a station wagon that'll do just fine for now. No sense in keeping it."

I nodded.

A few moments of silence, all of us taking sips of our lemonade.

"I, ah… what price were y'all thinking of?" I asked, hating how tiny I sounded. Maybe even how desperate. Well. I _was_.

He opened his mouth to respond, but she put her hand lightly over mine and spoke first.

"You say you don't care for that truck - well, what if we make it part of the deal?"

She and I both glanced to him.

He raised his eyebrows, thought for a second. "That might not be a half-bad idea. Got good leg room?"

I nodded. "Yessir. I have to have the seat scooted all the way, and then my boots help some."

"Those are lovely boots," she commented.

"Thank you."

"You are a slip of a thing!" he said. "Let's get you in the Impala, though, make sure those boots'll get you to the pedals, whatcha say?"

Now I nodded like crazy, I couldn’t help it. They were going to take me for all I had, I was starting to believe. Or it would be too rich for my blood. At least I’d get to sit in it, just for a little while.

It was clean-as-a-whistle inside. The way they’d talked about their boys, I’d have expected stale french fries and milkshake stains everywhere, but there wasn’t a sign telling me this car wasn’t anything except beloved. I laid my hands on the steering wheel.

_Hi, there, pretty lady._

"Oof!" I muttered. The door had stayed open, and he'd pushed the seat forward abruptly.

"Well, look-a-there, like a glove!" he announced, and he was right.

Granted, the seat was up all the way, but I wasn't just using my tip-toes. My foot was centered on the pedals. I sunk just the right amount into the seat.

"I don't reckon you'll need 'em to drive, but them boots, they look awful fine in there," he commented, in only a slightly leading tone.

But he wasn't trying to woo me, he was just stating a fact. They did. It was a perfect fit.

I was sold.

"Now, she's up to date on 'er check-ups, you ain't gotta worry about that or oil changes or whatnot anytime soon," he went on. "And ain't nothing wrong with that back tire, it was just a little nail and it patched up fine, I just haven't got around to fillin' it back up."

I ran my hand along the leather seat. My purse was still hanging across me. They were older. They were sweet. I could've stolen it, I bet.

Could've stopped in a grocery store parking lot, changed the tags. Be long gone out of the state, just keep changing them whenever I crossed a county line. Make our time together last as long as I was able.

"Your face is all wound up," he pointed out, and I looked up at him to find that steady kindness staring back.

"I don't have a lot of money," I said softly.

"We can talk that over, hon. I need something-"

I nodded.

"-but I'd rather take less than, to have 'er go to someone who loves 'er, instead of lining my pockets three times over."

A glance over the roof of the car. I followed suit, looking through the cracked window. The porch was empty.

"The boys are stayin' over at a friend's, and I know that woman's still cooked enough to feed everybody in town. You wanna have a little supper before you head back out?"

It was the best meal I'd had in years.

"I was thinking," I began timidly, once the meal was over.

She had stood, picked up her plate and was reaching for mine, when she slowly sat back down. I wasn't looking at them when I began. When I brought my head up, they had something akin to sympathy on their faces.

What I must've looked like to them.

"I have about four hundred dollars," I said, pulling the strap over my head and setting my purse on the table, then opening it. "And, then this… um… please don't let me scare you or anything." I gingerly pulled out the handgun and set it next to my scraped-clean plate. "This can be part of my pay, too, and the truck, well, it tends to stick in reverse, but I took care of that earlier, and I don't know what size shoe you wear, ma'am, but these are Luchesses, I don't know if you know of those, but they're real real nice when they're not muddy, they're only a year old, and you could probably get good money for 'em…."

I let my rambling drift off, those sympathetic stares still trained on me.

"Never… never mind," I said quickly, scooting my chair back and standing. "Y'all have been real kind, I appreciate the supper."

They shared a look, and when I moved to pick up my purse and the gun, her soft hand once more covered mine.

"Now hold on there, missy," she said in a slightly firm tone, one I assumed she typically reserved for the menfolk of her home.

"You're gettin' ahead of yourself - take that chair, then take you a deep breath," he chimed in.

I nodded, did as instructed.

“That gun’s not scary,” she told me, after I’d sat and looked back to her, her hand now holding mine, resting them both on the table. “We’re in Texas.”

The reminder set that twinkle to spark in her eyes, and I laughed.

"Yes, ma'am."

"That truck run good otherwise?" he asked.

"Yessir," I said, then paused. "It ain't as clean inside as the… the…"

"Impala."

"The Impala. Um, I… didn't stop to… I didn't have time to get all the beer bottles and cans and… well, it's messy."

"Messes can be cleaned up."

It was an easy-going response, and I gave him a look that I hope conveyed my thanks for it before I went on.

"Oh, the tires! I know two new tires got put on last summer... I don't remember which, though."

I was combing my brain for anything else I could tell them. Anything to make them want anything of mine. Anything of worth. I had so little of worth.

She released my hand and patted it, then looked to her husband. "Help me get these dishes to the sink," she requested, standing and beginning to gather.

"I can-" I began, starting to stand.

"No no no," she fussed good-naturedly. "You're company."

He heaved himself up with a grunt, picking up his plate and following behind her to the kitchen. I stood the rest of the way anyway, glancing around. The dining area bled into the den, and I found myself looking at the pictures on the walls, drinking in the stories they told me like they were porch lemonade.

_Good. Those boys were loved but good._

They came back in then, and I turned, kneading my hands behind my back.

He had papers in his hands, and they both had tiny grins on their faces. He set the papers down on the table, ambled towards me, hand outstretched, palm up.

"Gimme yer keys, lemme go see about how that truck's running."

I felt a flutter in my heart. Quickly retrieving them from the table, I handed them over immediately. After the screen door slammed shut in his wake, I looked to her.

"And that's a .22, ain't it?" she asked, pointing to the table, to the gun.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, we'd been on the lookout for a little something for me to have when I'm out alone, which is gettin' to be more routine these days, since the boys seem to be off on adventures all the time."

"Yes, ma'am," I repeated. Then I looked down to my boots.

"No," she said, again in that firm, no-nonsense voice. I looked up to stern eyes and a jerk of a head shake.

“Yes, ma'am,” I whispered, feeling a touch of moisture hit my eyes, and it hit my cheeks, but two quick swipes from her and they were gone.

"Go on, bathroom's down the hall on the left."

When I came back out, he was sitting at the table, the papers in front of him, my keys nearby. She was peering over his shoulder, then pointed at something, and he nodded, bringing his pen to that spot and scribbling. They looked up at the sound of my boot heels on the floor.

"Hon, I glanced in the glove box, didn't see any registration," he said almost carefully.

Damn. I couldn't think of the last time that shitbird had kept up with things like tags and insurance and registration. And I could've kicked myself for not tearing apart the house for the title. I just hadn't been thinking. Just packed, went to the diner to quit my job, and drove.

"I don't– it's not– it's not actually–"

"I'm gonna be straight here, sweetheart, and you shoot me straight, too."

"Yessir."

"Anybody gonna be lookin' for that truck?"

_Is anybody gonna be lookin' for you?_

I shook my head, and this time my voice came out with one-hundred percent certainty and conviction.

"No, sir."

A nod, then back down to the papers, more scribbling. She caught my eye, gave me a wink. The tiniest of smiles came to my face, and I found myself working my hands behind my back again, this time a different sort of nervousness coming over me.

Once he’d set his pen to the side, he looked over at me. "That'll be three-hundred and a couple of John Hancocks, young lady."

I inhaled and exhaled a shaky breath, practically lunged at my purse, pulling out the wad of cash, all three of us soon counting aloud. I had a $50, but other than a smattering of $1s, the rest were $20s. It ended up with $310 on the table.

"Keep the change?" I offered.

Two nods, two smiles.

I signed the paperwork, one a copy for them, then he picked up mine and walked over to a hutch, pulling an envelope out of a drawer. She handed me a - _my_ \- shiny key.

"What all do you need off your key ring?"

I looked at her with a grin that made my cheeks ache. "Not a thing."

He sighed as he stuffed the papers in an envelope. "Well, Junior's gonna have a fit, sharing a truck with me instead of the Impala."

She snatched the envelope from him, passed it to me, then grabbed him in a one-armed, but fairly tight, sideways hug. She was the picture of bliss, knowing her sons wouldn't be speeding around town like a jet bolt of lightning. He freed his arm, put it around her and squeezed back, letting out one of those chuckles that sounded like music to my ears.

I clutched the key and envelope to my chest like they clutched each other.

“Oh, your purse, honey,” she suddenly said, seeing as how I’d been turned towards the door in a bit of a haze, staring out the screen at my new partner in crime.

He helped me get my suitcase into that canyon of a trunk, then they guided me as I backed it up, doing a slow three-point-turn in the yard, straightening out onto their unpaved driveway. They came up to the driver's side window, which I'd left down to hear their instructions. Now they fussed over me like I was one of their own. It was nice.

"You know where the closest gas station is?" she checked.

I nodded. "I was there earlier."

"Now, you get straight there, get that tire filled all the way up, hear? Don't get on no highway til you do," he said.

Another nod. "Yessir."

"You'll be safe in 'er," she told me, leaning in to give me a little peck on the cheek.

"She's traveled a lot in 'er short life," he added, patting the hood. A pause, a bit of a side-eye. "You don't sell Bibles, do ya?"

They both snickered.

"Ignore him, hon," she told me. "My best friend in Iowa's the one we bought the Impala off of, she hated to sell, though - it had got her the hell out of Wisconsin after her husband died. He was one of them 'come-to-Jesus', 'the-end-is-nigh' types, went all over the state passin' out the Good Book."

"What happened?" I asked.

"The booze and the fried cheese caught up to him, dropped dead before he got to see his apocalypse," she responded wryly and with an eye roll.

Then, despite her claimed nervousness and dislike for the Impala, I watched as she almost lovingly stroked the door beside me.

"Never thought that was a good enough life for her," she commented softly, then brought her eyes to mine.

"I'll make sure," I whispered, answering her unasked question.

"She's gonna get you there," he told me. "Fast as you need, far as you need."

And I believed him. Believed in them. Believed in _her_.

I topped off the gas, watched as one of the station attendants filled the tire with air. I leaned back in, opening my purse to go pay - and I gasped. The gun was there, a small sliver of pie inside a plastic sandwich baggie tucked next to it.

It was seventy-two degrees as I sailed out of Lubbock, and not too dark, but I turned on the headlights anyway. Sweet lord, did they cut through the night. I would see anything coming at me.

I laughed out loud, letting the wind whip my hair with fury, glad for once that it was still on the short side, else I wouldn't have been able to enjoy the feeling as much. I hadn't bothered to check the radio before signing on the dotted line - it didn't seem important. I could live without music if I had to, it would be fine.

So before I got on the highway, at the last red light before the on-ramp, I took a moment to unwrap my little slice of love, setting it in my lap. Moment of truth. I put my fingers to the knob.

_CLICK_

"Son-of-a- _bitch_!" I squealed, flooring the engine as soon as I hit the highway, banging my hands against the steering wheel, laughing like a maniac in between taking bites of the pie.

The speakers were not as loud as that engine, but goddamn, were they close.

"I'm sorry!" I yelled over the wind and the engine and the radio, apologizing to that heaven-sent hunk of metal for my sticky fingers as I reached for the dial, turning it off of one of the more recent hits that they'd been playing incessantly at the diner.

Anything that reminded me was like nails on a chalkboard. That would fade. I would learn to ignore it.

But not tonight.

"Aaaaahhhh!"

I was screaming again, couldn't believe it when I heard the start of a song which was very familiar, had good memories attached to it.

"You hear that?!"

I patted the dash rapidly a few times, like I was getting the car's attention.

"This was one of Momma's favorites! She and Daddy would stop and dance when it came on!"

I cranked it up more, singing so loudly I'd almost drowned out Mr. Buddy Holly himself.

 _Maybe baby, I'll have you_  
_Maybe baby, you'll be true_  
_Maybe baby, I'll have you for me_

It was an old song, one from the fifties. I was little, but in my mind, I could still see Daddy's huge smile and see Momma's shocked expression, followed quickly by a fit of giggles as he'd whip her around, then dip her down when that song came on the radio. I always wondered why she was surprised - he did it every damn time.

"Love you, baby," he'd tell her when the song ended and they were standing close, still swaying a bit.

"I love you back, baby," she'd reply, like clockwork. Every damn time.

A few tears slipped out, but they were replaced with a smile. I turned down the radio when the song ended. Then with one hand, I folded up the baggie, stuck it inside my purse, never even crossing my mind to toss it on the floorboard or in the backseat.

There were signs up ahead giving me a few options.

"Whaddya say, babygirl - I was headed west, but we can always do somethin' different!" I reassured the car, giving another pat to the dash.

I chose.

"That okay, me calling you babygirl?"

I thought on that for a moment.

"You're not a little girl, though!"

Another moment. My thoughts went back to Buddy's voice. To Momma and Daddy.

"I don't got anybody to call Baby, that okay by you?"

If a steady engine and headlights with beams like stars meant a happy car, then I was gonna take it as a sign. If I believed in signs. Which, I suppose, I did.

"Oh! And…"

I had taken off my boots before driving away from the service station, laid them on their sides in the passenger seat. I'd got all the mud off of them in the bathroom after I'd paid. They had their nice touch of a sheen back, even over the scuffs, my older babies seemingly just as happy as my new one.

"…these are the boots that got me to you! Get used to 'em, they'll be in here a lot!"

I sang along to what felt like a hundred songs til my throat got sore. We drove quietly for awhile. I was a nervous wreck leaving her alone, but I was plumb exhausted, and had to get some sleep. Chasing shadows too long'll do that.

Even so, I kept peeking out the little motel room window off-and-on for awhile. I'd asked for a ground floor room, so she could be right outside from me. I knew it wasn't as safe for a single gal to be just off the parking lot, but I didn't want her to be too far. Besides, I still had the handgun.

Those guardian angels of mine sure were somethin' else.

I stopped to make a phone call before I hit the road hard. Well, two phone calls. The first was to kill the last speck of doubt.

"Yeah?"

"Hello," I replied calmly, gazing out the phone booth at Baby.

"Where the hell-"

I smiled.

"I'm gone."

Daddy had relatives in Kansas, second cousins, but I remembered their kids from when I was younger, when we'd drove up to visit a few times. Pen-pal'd for a little bit with one of the boys, we'd kept up over the years. So I dropped in a dime, dialed a better number.

"Wow! You did it!"

I giggled. "I know!"

"You need to come stay with us?"

"If you don't care-"

"Stop that! We've got the room, at least for five more weeks - I still haven't got rid of the bed or put the crib together."

"Well, then, I'll help you. And listen - you're gonna die. Or hate me. Or have a heart attack, because I've got a baby, too!"

My cousin's reaction was priceless, even more so when I pulled in his driveway. I'd never seen somebody so happy for me and jealous of me all at once. And I had the same reaction when his daughter was born. Just two of the many good days you’d brought me to.

I think the saddest day of my life was letting you go.

It's strange, how much can change in a year. My cousin had set me up on a blind date with a friend of his, and I thought, shoot - a girl's gotta eat, so I went. And oh, Baby, was I smitten. But _you_ know - you were there for plenty of the kissing.

And you were there when we made _our_ baby, did you know that? I can't remember if I thought to tell you. Kansas tornadoes are just that way. Swoop you up into all kinds of craziness.

It felt like a piece of me was getting cut off, watching my husband shake hands, that dealer coming towards us. Your key was cutting into my palm. My other hand was on my belly.

I didn't do it for the money. I had to do it for the baby. The _new_ baby. And, you know, my ankles are so swollen, I don’t get to wear my boots, if that makes you feel any better. Doesn't me, though.

We're moving away. Just have to drop you off, under the rainbow, how funny is that? Then we're gone.

I owe you my life. You saved me. You'll save others, I just know it. You'll get 'em out of tight spots, keep 'em safe, be there for hard stuff, but you'll be part of so much good stuff, too.

I'm leaving this for you. I'm gonna pull up a little bit of carpet somewhere, slide it in. I don't know where yet. Just so you won't be alone. But I don't think you'll be by yourself for long.

I hope whoever you end up with finds this, reads this story. That they'll remember some roads are gonna seem far too long, but if you're with them, time will fly. That they'll love you as much as I do and throw on some boots and floor it and zoom into the night and go raise some hell.

I got a feeling they will.

.

* * *

 _Author's Note:_  
\- Originally a written for a challenge back at Tumblr, with "Maybe Baby" by Buddy Holly as the prompt.  
\- My personal prompt was a song I've loved for a long time, "Hello, I'm Gone" as sung by Trisha Yearwood, written by Kevin Welch [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wwWewzdsUQM)]

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is fuel! Let me know if you enjoyed. -Nash


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